Bereft
by bleiddianmusic
Summary: After a destructive encounter with some of Talia's assassins, Damian is facing a nightmare he has never been prepared for. [Rated M for mention of rape, language, violence.] [Also includes Jason, Alfred and Barbara.]
1. Opening

**Disclaimer**: _I do not own Batman - DC Comics does_.

Hello! _This is my first_ Batman _fanfiction, born in the middle of a difficult night. Well, more like a prelude of it all__. The point of view will change for each chapter, in order to catch more pieces of the big picture._ :)

Alfred_ and _Jaybird_ will appear later only, but yes, they are in this fanfiction as well! Jee for these two_

_I hope you'll enjoy reading this story, despite its (dark) theme. Feel free to review if you've liked the story... Or even if you _didn't_ like it, too - constructive criticism is always welcome! _;)

* * *

**Opening – _Richard Grayson_**

Back when I was Batman, there were but two things I ever truly feared. _Two_ _fucking_ _little_ _things_. I feared I'd fail Damian; that he would not trust me, that he would run away, that I would get him killed. He wasn't just _my_ _Robin_, after all. I grew fond of the kid, or so I used to claim to avoid admitting that my brotherly love was unconditional. Complete. I thus feared I'd fail Damian much before I feared I'd fail Gotham, and that was about it. The baby bird meant the world.

Tonight there is a dead man at my feet and two other corpses near the wall I'm facing. The room is small and grey. There is no window, no escape but a door, behind me, that Batman has destroyed a few seconds earlier. There are red stains all around the place. The air smells of iron, sweat and cigarette. There is Damian. _My_ _bird_. He is knelt down, naked, in the center of this mess, not answering nor even acknowledging his father or me, despite the multiple calls of his name. His arms are covered in blood, which I assume once flushed through the dead _Assassins_' veins. Some of it had splashed on Damian's cheeks and lips, and got mixed with a pearl white, thick liquid I refuse to see. This is _not_ happening. It _can't_.

Fears should remain but fears.

Batman, sat in front of Damian, takes his cowl off at last. But it doesn't matter. The boy will not answer – we both know it too well. Bruce _tries_ anyway. He tries in vain and his hands are shaking, his words soon meaningless. Damian's clothes are discarded there and then on the cold floor. Some are pretty torn up. Leaning on the doorframe, I feel sick and dizzy. I wish I could wake up. _It's just a nightmare, right_? I hear Red Robin's steps hurrying through the hallways, heading straight toward us and this massive disaster. I wish I'd find the strength to forbid him to step in. My kind little brother… He should never see _that_.

Bruce does not dare to touch his youngest son's bare skin, yet carefully wraps the cowl around the boy as Red Robin reaches the doorway, stopping his race at once. My stomach is upside down. It feels like I could faint any moment, if only to escape this sentiment of guilt.

We failed. We failed _hard_. Red Robin's – no, _Tim's_ – hand grasps mine, looking for some sort of comfort I simply can't give him.

"Nightwing," I hear Bruce say, "we have to take him out. Back to the cave. You'll have to drive, for I'll keep him on my lap."

"I… I can't." _I feel nauseous_. "I can't drive, Batman, can't leave Red Robin here alone…"

"_Richard_."

I shiver at the sound my own name, can't tell if the tone is angry, worried or desperate. _Guilty_. Damian finally lets his body slip into his father's arms. His eyes are shut as his fingers tightly catch Bruce's left hand. I find it hard to breathe.

"We should call Al." Tim's voice is blank and low. "Nightwing and I can take the Batmobile – _I_'ll drive –, and you and Damian can get a safer ride back home, preferably by plane so that Damian could lay down and rest, getting first aid treatment in peace until you reach the cave. You can't ask any of us to stay out of this, Batman. You really can't. We are _all_ going home."

Bruce doesn't answer. He glares at me instead. His blue eyes are full of an anger I haven't witnessed since Jason's death. There is something more in it, but I better not dig it up right now; not that I even _could_ do so… He _knows_. He feels just exactly how breathless, numb and frightened I am. I hear Tim whisper my name in a concerned tone, as Damian seems about to lose consciousness, _too_. Bruce is about to speak when I cut him out, faking some assurance:

"No. I need fresh air. I'll get by myself straight back to the manor while you'll drive them there, Red Robin. We can't wait for Al to come. Damian needs proper care at _home_ – not in the _cave_, and you know that, Bruce, right?" He looks even angrier now, his eyes averting mine as he pulls Damian closer to his chest.

Tim waits a few seconds before he lets go of my hand.

"Nightwing, I'm not sure we should…" I lose a bit of my composure, turning around to face my little brother. He sounded nervous. He's _scared_.

"We _have_ to, Red Robin," I whisper firmly. "Don't pretend the situation isn't brand new tonight. It _is_. It _fucking_ is. We've been wounded thorough the years, that's sure fact. We've taken cuts, bullets, poison, stitches, bone breaks… Man, one of us even _died_… But this time, it's something else. Let's not play big tough guys while a _child_, our _brother_ and _son_, is in such a poor state. We screwed up already. Face it, and face it _fast_."

"_Enough_."

Bruce is losing it. He keeps his voice in control not to scare Damian, but it's pretty obvious his rage his getting over him. For about a minute, none of us say a word, until Bruce slowly gets up, the kid still in his arms, and walks toward Red Robin and me. He doesn't even lift his head up, doesn't even look at us. Damian's got his full attention.

"Red Robin, prepare the Batmobile." Tim nods and escapes the room, after giving me a quick tap on the shoulder. "Nightwing… You can go. Meet with us in the cave as soon as possible…"

"The _cave_? No! It's not where Damian should…"

"I _know_. I've _heard_ you the first time, and I'm _taking_ your advice. _You_ will meet with Red Robin and me in there _first_, because we have to discuss what just happened tonight, the reason why we _screwed_ _up_ – to use your words – and how we are going to help Damian get through it, without risking for the slightest destructive behavior to stick around. Understood?"

I can't take my eyes off my baby bird. He is asleep, or almost. I raise a hand to reach him but Bruce's sharp "_Nightwing_" cuts my action mid-way. My Robin. My _failure_.

"Understood."

Bruce nods in silence and starts making his way out of the empty building, following Tim's trail. When I cannot hear the sound of his steps anymore, I take a deep breath and start walking around the room, picking Damian's shattered clothes from the floor. The sight of the Assassins' corpses makes me feel sick again. I've sure seen death before, but tonight, it's different. These freaks are no victims. Wouldn't it all be fucked up enough, I'd set them on fire. There is no need to think too much about who planned this whole thing and the simple though gives me chills. _Quick, the cave, the manor, my bird_… I run away as soon as I'm certain that only corpses are left in there.

Outside, autumn winds bite my cheeks. It must be around three o'clock. Gotham is sleeping. Perhaps Damian is, too.

I hope he won't wake up.

* * *

_See you in chapter 1 - in a few nights, probably._ :) _It's 2.49am here... -Mirkku_


	2. First steps, 1 & 2

**Disclaimer**: _I do not own Batman - DC Comics does_.

_I felt bad that I didn't update it in a while. As an apology, I combined what were originaly planned to be chapters 1 & 2 in a single one - there it is!  
Please note that reading Red Hood and The Outlaws #8 might be a great help to understand the story references used for Tim's POV._

_To people who reviewed the "opening" chapter - THANK YOU! Same goes for those following the story. Please leave a little comment this time! :)  
And special thanks to Anne-Lise, my wonderful support and beta._

* * *

**First Steps, 1. – _Timothy Drake-Wayne_**

There is something convenient being Jason Todd's friend. Something I need to hold onto right now.

The kitchen smells of fresh coffee and burnt toasts. The chair I'm sat on is cold, like the air, or so my sustained immobility makes me believe. I am facing a window; the night is bright, the sky starry. Jason doesn't say a word as he grabs butter, marmalade jars and milk from the open fridge. His messy hair, red cheeks and hazy blue pupils were a sight I never thought I'd come across in this lifetime. Then again _this_ _lifetime_ has been pretty messed up, lately.

"I'm sorry that I barged in like that," I mutter. "And that I woke you up."

"You've woken me up countless times in the past, _'bro'_ – unintentionally. Dreams about you used to be the worst kind."

"Sorry about _that_, too."

"It's fine. At least back then those were only visions, but you look like shit, tonight, and you are _very_ _real_. Not quite what I hoped for."

There is something convenient being Jason Todd's _brother_. He's honest. He's _fair_. There is no place for pity nor lies in his icy eyes as he starts to pour coffee in the mug in front of me. His whole body is relaxed, moving smoothly toward the chair at the other side of the table, on which he sits without haste. All of a sudden, I feel exhausted. Let out a soft sigh.

"You should eat something."

"Not hungry."

"Don't care. _Eat_."

There is a hint of concern in the tone he nevertheless manages to keep firm. He is serious. I give in and grab a slice of bread I chop up in tiny pieces I swallow with disgust.

Twenty-two hours. Not even a _day_, and I'm crashing already.

It killed me, last morning, to hear Bruce and Dick argue so loudly about how to handle the whole situation, merely forgetting our focus was Robin. Damian. A _kid_. The way they were talking about him sounded more like a case aftermath they felt _compelled_ to deal with, before things became too personal and the two simply chose to shout out everything dreadful their hearts held. It was ugly. _Sick_. By the time Alfred stepped in, dragging Bruce back to the manor, I had let go of the hopeful feelings I had been trying to keep up. It was unnecessary. The meeting was rescheduled, Jason got back in Gotham a few hours later and Dick kept himself locked up in his old room.

I remained in the cave. I was unable to move. It took me a while to breathe normally again, and the moment I did, I escaped the manor grounds, got downtown and woke Jason up.

Not a good day for pride.

"Alfred called earlier," I hear Jason say. "Family meeting at dawn, in the cave. Didn't say why."

"Damian."

"What has he done this time?"

"Nothing. _We_ screwed up, _he_ paid."

Jason doesn't insist. He never does.

* * *

The water is burning my skin and the steam makes my vision cloudy. But it's not so bad. In fact, it's quite relaxing considering my muscles are still tensed since the image of Damian I caught back in that warehouse.

Perhaps I should erase this memory already.

Jason has left a towel and an old T-shirt of his for me, in the bathroom. No pants. "_We need some rest, Tim_" – he said. At least on his part, he sure isn't lying. My exhaustion is of another kind, one that sleep can't wipe away; yet, if this '_rest'_ means that I'll get to spend a few hours in quietude, at Jason's side, I will not turn down the offer.

I've missed our Tuesdays. Our breakfasts up one of the Lex towers, back when we weren't so busy all the time. He would come around eight, always with a different, exotic touch to add to the waffles and bread we drowned in hot chocolate and covered of whipped cream. I used to tell him most of the things that were happening in my little life, and in return he shared with me stories of the time when he was Robin, or the latest silly action Roy had done to make their days interesting. He always made me laugh. I like to tell myself I made him feel he _belonged_. Maybe I'm wrong, but tonight, I want to believe I wasn't, and that he welcomed me here as a brother, not a failed co-worker.

I don't need the comfort of _someone knowing the risks_.

It's not just me - the flat _is_ cold. Especially when I just wander there in underpants and despite the thin T-shirt I've finally put on. I make my way toward the bedroom where Jason is throwing a bigger blanket over the double-bed.

"Dawn is in three hours," he whispers. "It's not much, but a little nap won't hurt. Sorry that we'll have to share the bed."

"I'm not sure I can sleep… Nerves, you know…"

"Then just don't wake me up. _Again_. And don't go away. We'll head to the manor together."

"Alright."

He turns the lights off after he is sure I slipped under the blanket. Joins me there. For a moment, all we hear are the buzzing sounds of night birds singing behind the window, police and emergency cars screaming further away in town.

"Loud night…," Jason growls. He stays close to me, eyes shut, breathing slowly, in silence. His body heat is gentle to feel.

"About Damian…," I begin.

"Don't tell me – not just yet. I'd like to get some sleep while I still can do it the easy way. Beside, _Damian_ is the one who should tell me _what_ _happened_, and only if he wishes to. I'm fine with him never sharing that. I'll protect and help anyway. It doesn't change anything."

"Bruce might tell you."

"And I'll blame _him_ for that in time."

My hand moves alone to catch his. He doesn't pull away. I tighten my grip as he falls asleep.

* * *

**2. – **_**Bruce Wayne**_

Damian is small. I tend to elude that. His flawless fighting techniques, sarcasm and manners can fool everyone he meets. He _looks_ tall. Tough, almost unbeatable. He flies above Gotham like a constant thread to villains and allies alike. The boy can _hurt_. He can overwhelm minds. In the past I have seen men and monsters tremble with fear as they met his stern gaze, some going as far as begging for mercy when he was standing still, ten feet away from their touch. But ten feet indeed _is_ a dangerous range to be within when it comes to Damian. He knows the steps. He sees the breaches. He has _ways_ to make people forgetting the fact that he is a _mere_ _child_, and he is content with it, just as much as I faked to be.

Yet, Damian is small. His hands are tiny and his shoulders are frail. I see it all now. Perhaps I always did, but it was so easy, so _alright_ to play blind when Damian stood so strong, however down he sometimes fell. Even this was okay. I'd sit by his side. I'd pull him into a brief embrace and the pain would go; _seem_ to. I'd have his bruises stitched and his fever put down. We'd argue louder than necessary and spit our feelings out. It'd work.

Not _now_.

"Say, when _I_ was _his_ _Batman_, there was this one time some Venom-drugged creeps threw a surprise attack, near the docks, in bright light. Damian was yet to recover from a broken arm and a mild concussion, that afternoon. He was just hanging there as a civilian and got knocked down while helping people escape the area, before I could even set a foot on the scene. A friend of his protected them both while waiting for the rescue team, and after this mess was over, I got to carry Damian back to the cave, since the Batmobile wasn't available and the jet far from discrete. It was a grim time – more like a busy week... And Damian worried me. I mean, more than usual. He had nothing too serious, of course… But he was _smaller_ then. Well, maybe not. I can't really tell."

Dick is standing in the hallway, looking calmer by now. His tone is warm and soothing. From the chair I'm sat on, nearby Damian's bed, I can clearly see that he is still in need of some sleep. But this is a much smoother start that the one we got yesterday in the cave. I can but thank him for that, mentally; Dick has always known how to help me keep my sanity in line and has coped with my imperfections without complaining much thorough the years, without getting away. That is, when we didn't burst into fights no words nor gestures could ever erase. It's a wonder we're still in such good terms, considering we tend to skip apologies and conceal the resent until time washes it away. It's a wonder time always does _so_, between us.

I feel the weight on my shoulders lifting as I nod at him in acknowledgement.

"I believe he has grown since," I reply. "A few inches, maybe."

"He still cannot fill Tim's Red Robin costume, although he tried several times… But don't tell Tim about that. Or Damian. Don't tell anyone."

For a while, we listen to the silence. It is not as heavy as I thought it would be, with Damian asleep between the two of us. Dick named him _Robin_. I merely followed his wishes, at first, when I allowed Damian to keep this legacy on. Only later was I convinced it indeed was for the best.

Dick outwitted me. He _knew_. He has seen through Damian and felt all the kindness the boy could prove to be made of, made _for_, back when no one around would even call him _human_. He has tempered the kid's behavior and gained his trust with ease, teaching him how to improve his moral balance until I came back to pursue this crusade. He never mentions it. Not in that terms, anyway. He likes to talk about the time he was _Damian's Batman_, just like a big brother enjoys to bring on the table his younger siblings' achievements, big and trivial, distancing himself from every bit of credit it may hold.

"Jason and Tim are waiting down the cave," he says. "Alfred is making tea. Said something about waffles, too, but I hope I misheard that…"

"I'll be right there."

"Eh, take your time. We're not going anywhere. Neither is Damian - well, not _this_ instant..."

Dick knows it _all_. Smart, kind-hearted son.

* * *

When I arrive in the batcave, Jason and Tim are quietly sitting next to each other while Dick and Alfred are trying to get Titus to move away from the passenger seat of the Batmobile. The dog had stayed in there since we came back from the warehouse. Whatever his reason is, I'd gladly leave him like that for the time being. Dick and Alfred probably need a distraction, though, and I let them have it a little longer as I approach my two other boys.

"Thank you for coming."

"Yeah, don't mention it."

"So you and Dick patched up?"

"We did. Don't worry."

I know it's no use; Tim is a worrier. He gets anxious and sleepless at the simple thought that the people close to him might be in trouble. Jason is no different. His arms are crossed on his chest and his face displays no feeling, but he _cares_. Over the years, he has shown just how much he grew attached to his friends and, I must admit, his brothers. I've seen him trying to reach out for Damian a few times. I know about the breakfasts he shares with Tim, in New York. He and Dick have a certain history, not always standing on the nice side, but they might as well have worked it out already. I believe they did.

Dick and Alfred finally give up on Titus' case. '_Better luck tomorrow, maybe_.' I am concerned that Damian might look after the dog if he wakes up alone, upstairs, while we are discussing his comfort down there. Before Dick mentioned Damian having a _friend_, I would have been tempted to think Titus was the only thing closest to this the boy got. Even so, Titus is the only one _here_, at the moment.

"How is Master Damian, sir?"

"Asleep, Alfred. He should wake up soon, though."

"Before that," Dick cuts in, glancing at Jason, "How much do _you_ know?"

"Basics. Awry night, Damian down. Details are for the _kid_ to tell me; not you."

"Fair enough, but if Damian never tells…"

"His choice. It wouldn't anger me. Clearly this is not a funny ride he's been on, judging by the dread you bat and birds carry all around now, so I'm not really sure I'd be happy to ever hear of what happened out there."

"We won't tell," I promise. "But Damian still needs help."

"I wouldn't bet about that." Tim's voice is a bit raspy. "I mean, yes, he needs us to be _available_ and ready to push him a little so he could vent all the wrong and the anger, but I don't think he would like us to constantly be with him, asking questions, _forcing_ him to cope with us while being over-protective and all over the place. It's _Damian_. He'd never like that."

"Like he says," Jason replies. "Babybird doesn't do pity, nor does he want any. If we have to help, it will be on _his_ terms. Otherwise it's compromised."

"As much as I agree with you, boys, we cannot act as if nothing happened, neither."

"We didn't say that."

"Bruce, they're right." Dick passes a hand in his wild hair. His eyes are close. "And so are _you_. We have to find a balance, and it may start by staying closer to Gotham for a while. _All_ of us." Frowning, Jason nods slowly. "Good. _Thanks_. You are the only one clueless here, Jason, and it can only be good for Damian to have someone never _pretending_."

"There's that. I'll stay close – when possible. I've got villains to fight, too, in case you forgot…"

"We didn't," I concede. "Tim, how about the Titans?"

"I'll call for a part-time for the time being. _Family_ _matter_. They'll understand."

"If I may, Sir – how about miss Gordon?"

"My call," Dick whispers. "Not now, but… Yeah. I'm on it."

"I see."

For a minute, none of us adds anything. There is not much left to say. At last, Dick shakes his head, sighs, raises a hand in Jason's direction.

"No offense," he says, "but there is still an issue I'd like to address, and this is directly connected to the incident, so…"

"It's fine. Gotta talk with Roy and Kori anyway. I'll come to train with Damian in a couple of days."

"To _train_?"

"Eh, we all have our ways…"

With that, Jason waves at us, before he jumps on his bike and exits the cave quickly. Tim comes closer to me. I put a hand on his shoulder as Dick begins:

"When I was picking up Damian's clothes at the warehouse, there was this mobile phone near one of the men. It was crushed, but it had a _camera_. Couldn't find anything to track it down. The other corpses were clear of this kind of devices, but all three had _these_." He pulls out three micro transmitters off his pocket. "I was meant to tell you yesterday, but... Yeah. It doesn't matter much, I guess. The crime was practically signed."

Tim seems ill, but he still grabs the devices. This is his area of expertise, and this is _work_. Our choices are narrowed.

"I've been running test," I reply. "Blood, sperm, even tissue found under Damian's nails… The results should be up soon. I admit I don't really want to check those, they might even be here already… I'll keep you informed if I find anything relevant. But as you say, Dick, the mystery doesn't appear well-hidden this time."

"What happened to '_never trust appearances, chum_'?"

"A rule I am glad both of you remember."

Dick smiles softly. That's something.

* * *

Titus followed me when I called for him, after everyone but us two left the cave. Thinking about it, Dick and I may have frightened him, last time we were there. He's a clever dog. He gets it when the situation is nowhere near to pleasant or safe, and he reacts fast. Confusion calls for calm. Titus was the only one following the right path.

There is light in Damian's room. _He's up_. Titus runs at him, barking a couple of times, stopping his course when his head bumps in Damian's legs. The boy caresses him, _absently_. He has opened the curtains and sat near his drawing desk, looking for something as he randomly picks pens, ink bottles and notebooks he piles up on one side until they fall on the floor. He doesn't react. Barely breathes.

"Damian?"

"I don't find it," he replies, his voice strained. "My music player. It should be there."

"How do you feel?"

He doesn't answer, eyes now on the dog he pats gently. I get closer, with caution.

"Maybe I've left it in the cave…," he murmurs.

"I'll get it for you. You should go back in bed, son."

He doesn't move. Kneeling in front of him, I start to stroke his right arm.

"Damian…"

"Are you mad?"

"_No_."

That came out harsher than it was supposed to. He shivers. I move my hand to the back of his, where I start tracing circles.

"No," I repeat, in a quiet tone this time. "I'm not mad. I'm worried, that is all."

He doesn't say a word, and we leave it at that.

An hour later, when I am back in the manor with his music player, I spot him in the kitchen, drinking a glass of milk, his phone ringing from the counter he let it on. But he doesn't answer. Nor does he talk to me, again – the _whole_ _day_. Only in the evening do I find him in my bed, sleeping soundly under the blanket, all lights on. His phone is burst in dozens of pieces around the hallway leading to his room.

* * *

_The next chapter should arrive much sooner. It will be shorter, too. I am experimenting two ways of writing it so expect either Dick (again! Such a star...) or the lovely Barbara._  
_+1 to those guessing who _Damian's friend_ is!_ _He'll_ _have his own chapter as well._  
_Until then..._


End file.
